One Hit Wonder
by pollicem
Summary: Harry and Severus bet on who would make a better rock star. Tight pants ensue. Snarry.
1. Chapter 1

This fic was inspired by the band Jars of Clay. They have a music video of their song called "Work," where Severus stars as the lead singer, and I saw it, and then I had to write this story. (You should all go watch the video on Youtube, right now, because it's hilarious!)

Much thanks go to my amazing beta, girlwithsixarms.

As ever, I don't own them, I just torture them, and reviews make my world turn.

-------------------

Harry stumbled into their chambers carrying a stack of papers and dumped them on the floor before he collapsed into the couch. Severus looked up at the frustrated wizard from his seat at the table where he'd been viciously grading essays. From Harry's vantage point from the couch, the top paper looked like somebody had bled all over it, and he _almost_ pitied the student before he remembered his resolve.

"Severus." Harry gave a deep sigh.

"Harry." There was a question in his voice.

"Severus." A bit more whining, that time.

"Harry." And he received a sterner reply.

"Severus, the students are moronic!"

"You've only just realized? Hmm. You must be dimmer than I thought." Severus turned back to his grading.

Harry fidgeted, curled up in the couch uneasily. "Well now that Voldemort's dead, none of them care about actually learning Defense. I've got the classes under control now, but all they really want are these epic war stories wrapped in some stupid Happily Ever After dreamworld, and…"

Severus detected that something big was going to happen. He put down his quill and went to sit beside Harry, enveloping the younger wizard in his arms.

"It should be fine. The students like me, there's not a lot of trouble. Well, Smithton got his nose blasted off, somehow, by an immobilizing hex that they were practicing today in class…" His green eyes grew troubled. "It should be fine, but it's not." There was a long pause. "You know, Hermione and I used to joke that after we finished Voldemort we'd become Muggle rock stars."

"Excuse me?" Severus's arms tightened around him, shocked.

"Well," Harry shrugged. "I wasn't sure what I wanted to do after he was killed. After all the training to kill him I didn't particularly want to be an Auror anymore, and it wasn't like I had any other skills, really, so singing was our fallback. Quidditch was never really practical." Harry chuckled. "Hermione just wanted to go to a Wizarding University at the time – she'd been leaning toward the one in Cairo, to continue with Runes and Arithmancy, but she played along with me anyway."

He twisted out of Severus's arms to face him and looked at him earnestly. "Couldn't you see me as a rock star? I'd be really, really good, right? I'd do lead vocals and guitar!" He mimed playing a guitar for a moment as he banged his head back and forth. But then he looked skeptically at Severus. "You can… be my backup drummer… If you're very,_ very_ good." He let out a snort of laughter as Severus bowled him back into the couch with a pounce and kissed him breathless.

------------------------------

Harry shouldn't have been dreading his class of third-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws. But he was. There was a Ravenclaw boy who looked just like Cedric. It had been years since the Triwizard Tournament, but Harry still felt the most awful twinge every time he looked at Liwensbury.

It had come up, of course, in his frequent chats with Dumbledore, especially after the few times at the beginning of the year when Harry had accidentally called on "Cedric". Dumbledore had been the epitome of understanding about all of it, but he hadn't helped much beyond imparting the advice that Harry should speak with someone. He even gave him the name of a Wizarding therapist. Harry hadn't bothered.

Now, back in one of the awesome lounge chairs in and cradling a lilac teacup, he steered the conversation toward a much more pressing topic.

"Albus, do you think we could try to broaden the curriculum a little bit?" Harry still thought it was really weird to be calling the headmaster by his first name, but all the other teachers did it and the headmaster had even requested it, so…

Albus's blue eyes sparkled as he popped another lemon drop. "How exactly do you mean?"

"Well, I know that Hogwarts has a chorus, but student involvement is rather dismal. I was thinking maybe a music professor, who could teach music theory, composition, maybe even a few instruments to interested students."

"Ah," Albus nodded appreciatively. "Would you, perchance, be interested in learning the calliope or pyrophone? The most interesting first-year came by just yesterday holding what appeared at first glance to be a cheese grater, but was actually the most amazing contraption for creating these marvelous musical farts." He peered at Harry through his half-moon glasses. "Or perhaps you'd be more interested in a more common instrument, like the arpeggione."

Harry shifted as he tried to hold in his laughter. "Actually, I was thinking about learning guitar."

"Yes, I see." Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, I think we could arrange a something to that effect."

A dim bell rang from the door in the side of Dumbledore's office. The headmaster stood up quickly, "Oh, please excuse me, Harry. I was experimenting with the reaction between one of Humphrey Belcher's famed cheese cauldrons and a batch of Veritaserum. Would you care to try it out when it's finished? It would be a tremendous help if you would be so kind." Harry stood from his chair and headed out the door to the moving staircase. "And do tell Severus that I shall owl him, posthaste, with the results."

---------------------

The next few weeks saw Harry plodding tiredly through his classes as he grew ever-more frustrated with the entire situation and ever-more eager for the slowly approaching summer. However, he'd had a few guitar lessons with the new professor. Apparently the new classes she offered, about both magical music and muggle music, were a tremendous success, and many students in his classes were taking private lessons with her.

She was a very peculiar witch. She had a small, mousy face, and a huge mane of white hair that sank to her lower back when she let it loose, which was rare. Most often, she charmed her hair to stick up into weird directions. One week she'd spelled it to look like a different type of farm animal every day. Monday it looked like a rooster about to crow, and on Thursday it was a morbidly obese cow, with a huge humpback whale on Friday, which didn't really fit the theme. When asked about the cow, she'd explained that her mirror had been particularly finicky that morning and she'd been running late for a class, so she was unable to put it to rights. She never came to any meals, her wand had golden tassels dangling from the handle, and she always wore these violently purple robes, much to Dumbledore's enjoyment. She'd even asked both the students and teachers to call her "Thumpa-Thumpa", despite the appallingly obvious chagrin of the professors.

Severus despised the woman.

Unsurprisingly, Harry found her immensely entertaining and had a fantastic time at his guitar lessons every Tuesday evening. Yet when Harry had returned to his chambers after his first lesson, desperate to show Severus the exciting techniques he'd learned (the two chords he could play), Severus smirked at him.

"Well, it's certainly not like you could do any better. _I'm_ going to be the rock star, _remember_?" Harry grinned at the older wizard as they burst into laughter together. When they stopped, Harry gazed at Severus quizzically. "_Can_ you play?" he ventured, suspecting at the mysterious glint in the deep black eyes.

Severus's simper widened. "Not well, but I dabbled when I was younger," he reached for the guitar and Harry handed it to him. After a few tentative strums, Harry was laughing at Severus's feeble attempts. The potions master sounded worse than he did, and he'd only just learned! Severus raised one of his thin eyebrows at the doubled-over wizard.

Oops.

Harry had laughed far, far too soon. Severus's talented hands flew over the frets like his fingers were made of electricity. Harry's smile slid off his face and his eyes narrowed at his lover as he finished the glorious cadenza he plucked out of the air. Merlin, Severus was _hot_ when he played! Harry sidled up to him and took the guitar away, putting it on the table before he plundered the man's mouth.

"You'd make a much better rock star than I would, Severus," Harry said against his lips when he pulled away.

Severus ran a hand through Harry's disheveled hair. "I most certainly would not."

"Would too."

"Harry, you would make a tremendous rock star, if you so desired."

"Would not. And even if I could, you'd be a better one."

"I am certain that you are unequivocally mistaken."

"Am not."

Severus rolled his eyes and condescended to Harry's childishness, his hand still trying to smooth Harry's hair. "Are too." He paused. "In fact, let's discuss this empirically." Severus relaxed into the couch. "Over the summer, you and I will endeavor to become Muggle rock stars. Whoever becomes a more successful rock star over the summer owes the other a trip to Florence." Severus smirked at the prospect taking Harry to his favorite city.

The younger wizard made a face. "Okay, but if I win, I want to go on an epic sailing adventure! We'll be _pirates_!"

Severus sneered. "No." Harry looked at him imploringly. "Fine. A cruise, then. On a_ yacht_."


	2. Chapter 2

Sadly, I don't own them. Lovingly, many thanks to girlwithsixarms. Happily, one final chapter after this. Gladly, reviews make my heart squish.

--------------------

With only a month until his rock star career began, Harry put all his effort into learning how to play guitar, how to sing, and how to write lyrics. Not to mention how to actually look like a rock star. At the moment he was sitting in front of his miraculously silent mirror, styling his hair. He'd researched a bunch of spells that would make it hold, or stick up in certain parts, or make it lie flatter, but somehow his hair still looked the same. He poked at his bangs with his wand in puzzlement and whispered an enchantment, yet still they lay limply on his forehead.

He looked up at Severus when he came in. Severus, who wasn't putting any effort at all into becoming a rock star. Except Harry may have caught him scribbling a verse or two of a song in his potions notebook.

"I don't look much like a rock star," Harry complained as he gave up prodding his hair. "But!" he began excitedly, "I went down to Gladrags Wizardwear and bought a few outfits that a rock star would wear! I bought these amazing black jeans, and these black t-shirts." He frowned pensively. "I was really surprised they had anything Muggle like that. But what the saleswoman really wanted me to buy were these crazy socks. She claimed they were made out of Dunebanger fur…"

Severus gasped, "She offered you a pair of _Dunebanger socks_?"

Harry looked at Severus skeptically. "They were _polka dotted_. And they had these garish dangly strands. It would be like wearing a small Technicolor beaver, complete with big floppy tail. Only 19.99!" Harry made a face.

Severus's eyes narrowed. "We have to go back there tomorrow. Dumbledore's been looking for Dunebanger socks for the longest time."

"You know," Harry mused. "I think I could write a song about Dunebanger socks. It's kinda catchy, isn't it?" He looked up at Severus, struck by inspiration. "Yeah! Listen: Dunebanger socks, Dunebanger socks! You're so much fun, I wear you under my galosh. es." Harry grimaced. "Okay well, maybe the last line needs a little work, but I definitely think it's got potential."

Severus gave a long-suffering sigh. "Of course, Harry. It's just bubbling with unrealized genius."

When Dumbledore received the newest addition to his sock drawer, he was exceedingly thrilled and was so devastatingly generous with his thanks that he offered Harry some of the cheese-cauldroned Veritaserum.

It tasted unfathomably vile. Worse than drinking his own vomit, Harry thought. And it sure as hell didn't _work_. Instead of telling the truth about the meaningless questions, he was forced to prattle well-known platitudes.

"Is your name Harry Potter?" Dumbledore had started simply.

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet!" he had replied whimsically, nauseous. He hadn't known he could quote Shakespeare.

After the escapade, Dumbledore had sighed sadly and lamented the great Emmentaler cauldron as he melted it down for fondue. He invited Harry and Severus for dinner, but they politely declined.

------------------

Harry was ready. He had a bunch of songs he'd written that sounded pretty damn good, if he said so himself – he'd even turned "Dunebanger Socks" into something he deemed totally worthy of Muggle accolades. Thumpa-Thumpa agreed with him, and gave him the names of a couple Muggle recording artists who would help him get set up in the music industry.

Sadly, Harry hadn't heard a thing about Severus's plans, but his singing from the shower was rather intimidating when weighed against Harry's painful croons. Harry figured his voice wouldn't be too much of a drawback, though, when his heartrending lyrics and poignant harmonies were taken into account. Maybe. In his dreams.

His first concert was not something out of a fantasy. But it at least it wasn't a nightmare. He'd gotten a permit and played in the Piccadilly Circus Underground stop. Surprisingly, he actually made some money – a little over 40 pounds for the evening, but it was discouraging when most of the people hurried by on their way to nowhere without so much as a nod. What was more discouraging was seeing Severus after he'd finished his set. Severus had appropriated a great little spot at King's Cross St. Pancras. The bastard had an entire _crowd_ around him, and his open guitar case glittered more than Harry's. When he'd finished, Harry applauded along with the rest of them and grudgingly helped him pack his stuff so they could Apparate back to Hogwarts grounds.

"I'm still going to win, you know." Harry said firmly as they hiked up the hill to the castle. They'd shrunken all their gear in a discreet London alley.

"Of that I have absolutely no doubt," Severus replied tiredly. Harry couldn't decide if he was sincere.

"And we're going on a cruise," Harry smirked confidently.

As they stepped through the halls toward their chambers, Thumpa-Thumpa spotted them.

"Harry, dearest, how was your concert?" She grinned at him eagerly, extravagant wand held limply in her hand. She had deviated from her usual purple robes today and was experimenting with this ridiculous orange contraption. It was a… toga? a toga in blinding highlighter-orange. Severus was sure that Caesar wouldn't have stood for it and that Caligula would have torched anyone who wore such an abomination.

Harry frowned. "It didn't go too well, actually. But I'm positive that my next one will be much better."

"Of course!" She thwacked him on the back sympathetically. "Your next one will be tremendous, I'm sure! And you, Severus? How was your performance?"

Severus sneered at her and put a hand at the small of Harry's back to steer him away. "It was a Brobdingnagian success."

Harry swore that sometimes Severus used big words just to use big words. Insufferable bastard.

"Brob… Brob dig…?"

"Brobdingnagian," Severus repeated when they were safely in their suite, away from the tasteless garb of ridiculous professors. "It's from one of my favorite books."

Harry nodded and offered an understanding "Mmmm" around his toothbrush.

"Hey, Severus?" Harry began as he nestled against Severus's side as they lay in bed.

"Hm?"

"Do you think we'll be on Muggle radio soon?"

"Yes," Severus nodded assertively behind the potions journal he was scanning. "Quite certainly."

---------------------

Severus had a_following_. He'd started a band a couple of weeks ago, and now he had a _following_. A _posse_. Why couldn't Harry have a posse? His songs were just as meaningful.

Severus'd named his group Jars of Clay. He'd thought it was a terribly clever way of subtly inserting potions into his songs, but all the Muggles thought it was a reference to this miracle-worker they worshipped, because of these lines in their holy book about an alabaster jar and feet and oil.

Harry too, had a CD he'd created. He'd used Thumpa-Thumpa's contacts with the Muggle music industry and created a solo album. But no one was buying it.

The night he sat on the stone street and strummed his guitar, CDs proudly displayed on red fabric beside him, Severus was making a music video that was to be aired across MTV Europe. It was his hit song "Work."

When Harry later saw Severus on the telly, banging his head and clutching the microphone, his heart swelled in happiness and he collapsed into Severus's arms, laughing deeply. "Is there any significance to the water that won't stop rising?" he said, when he could finally breathe again.

Severus only smiled and dodged his question. "Come to the concert tomorrow?"

Harry couldn't refuse.

Surprisingly, Severus made it completely worthwhile. Sure, he sang a couple of songs that Harry didn't completely understand, about the significance of Jesus (Severus later explained that with a name like Jars of Clay, to appease his record company, he'd had to sing a couple songs like that), but the last piece of the concert was called "Green Eyes." It was a much more sentimental than he was used to from Severus – but perhaps it was some bizarre side of his inner rock star being let loose. Harry laughed hysterically.

And then he melted.

Florence with this man sounded _divine_.


	3. Chapter 3

The miraculous girlwithsixarms wrote the entire segment about the hot Italian club, which you _know_ you want to visit because it sounds like the best club ever.

And now it's time for our beloved Harry and Sev, who belong to someone else, not me, to visit _Italy_. (And perhaps they can plan for other exciting adventures on the high seas! Arr, matey.)

-------------------------

Severus took him on a magnificent walking tour of both the Muggle and Wizarding parts of Florence. They saw Michelangelo's David in the Galleria dell'Accademia, and Harry subsequently insisted on purchasing a magical, moving, palm-sized copy that spouted lewd phrases in 16th century Italian. Severus wouldn't translate, but Harry got the message loud and clear from David's accompanying gestures.

Sadly, Harry had to put it away when they reached the Duomo. Damn, but the cathedral was_amazing_. The front of it was glorious enough, hard, imposing stone, towering above, dwarfed by the bell tower beside it, but the gleaming interior was something out of a dream. Harry wished he could reach up and touch the impeccable paintings and the detailed woodwork.

Wizarding Florence wasn't to be outmatched. Through a squat old church, dedicated to the patron saint, John the Baptist, was the way to an incredibly ancient part of the city. When they exited the side door of the deserted church, they were in a wide square, with a magnificent fountain in the center.

Harry had never seen anything so grand.

Made of clean white marble, it reared toward the sky, a monolithic edifice of four leaping horses captured in a moment of stillness, looking like they might spring into life in any minute for all they were carved of stone. In the center of the fountain stood an ethereal woman made of long, fluid lines. One of her hands rested on the neck of the highest horse while the other was outstretched and emanating water. It poured from her palm and then rolled down the sinewy bodies of the horses, making them gleam so they almost blinded amazed eyes in the evening summer sun.

"It's a Conti," Severus said reverently as Harry gaped at it. He blinked, snapped out of his daze.

"Conti?"

"He was a Wizarding contemporary of Michelangelo's. His work is spread across Wizarding Italy, and is even seen in a few Muggle establishments. The Italians are _very_ protective of it, understandably, so it rarely changes hands."

Harry wished he could sketch it, if only to forever have the most miniscule part of its majesty. A street-vendor nearby was selling tiny replicas. It was the strangest thing. Even though they had all the magic in the world, the replicas had no sense of the glory and grandeur of the real thing.

The art wasn't the only marvelous aspect of Florence. The food, too, both Wizarding and Muggle, was divine. And Harry was developing quite a proclivity for the delicious fizzy water and wine they served at all the restaurants. Though he liked his wine sweet, none of the "dry" stuff Severus was so fond of.

Relaxed and sated from their late dinner (more like a feast) and a bottle of red wine, Harry somehow managed to convince Severus to go with him to a Muggle club. He even managed to get Severus some appropriate clothes.

Dressed for the occasion, Severus was decked out in fitted black jeans and an elegant button-down that highlighted his strong shoulders and lean frame. Harry tugged him into the club in navy jeans and a faded red t-shirt, ready for some drinking and dancing.

Harry and Severus got far more than they'd expected. As soon as they entered the door, they were deafened by overwhelming noise and sandwiched between gyrating bodies. Getting slowly squashed into jelly by the nearly-nude people beside him, Harry tried to make his way, Severus in tow, to a place where there was slightly more room to breathe. On the balcony of the club, they found a spot overlooking the main floor.

"Wow!" Harry gaped. The Muggles were _incredibly_ creative. Even _Severus_ looked astonished. Although you wouldn't notice if you didn't know to look for it. His eyes had widened almost imperceptibly, and his lips had narrowed a little.

Suspended from the ceiling were narrow cages. In the one closest to Harry, a blonde sailor in an extremely non-regulation uniform twined herself around a buxom pink bunny rabbit with a fluffy tail.

On a raised platform at the far end of the room, dancers in fishnet costumes of neon green, pink and blue twirled batons of fire around themselves and each other, while on the dim floor below there was a tall woman wearing nearly nothing but glitter and giant feather-trimmed fairy wings who danced wildly, being pulled to and fro by the manicured hands of drag queens who paid homage to everyone from Madonna to Marie Antoinette.

At the bar, tiny pixielike girls tottered around on ridiculously high platform boots and black-haired boys glinted with silver metal while a lean man in a giant metallic red cone bra decanted drinks and a woman dressed in what appeared to be mainly harnesses popped open bottles on her ornate belt buckle.

Grinning, Harry grabbed Severus by the wrist and they wound their way down the stairs, through a crowd of road warriors and modern-day medusas, to the center of the pulsing dance floor. Amidst a press of bodies, Severus snaked up to Harry and led him gracefully and confidently through the pounding and vibrating dance music that nearly overtook the beating of Harry's own heart. Harry felt Severus's hands running through his hair, and others pressing up against his back and saw still more hands waving sinuously all around them. Just as Severus was lifting Harry by his hips, the beat of the music spluttered and changed with a tremendous roar from the masses around them and the sudden sound of hundreds of stilettos and platforms jumping in unison as fists pounded the air.

"D-d-d-d-duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuneba-a-a-a-a-anger."

It was chopped and nipped and distorted, but there it was.

"Hey, Severus!" Harry yelled in Severus's ear to be heard, a huge grin lighting up his entire face. "MY SONG IS A DANCE HIT!"

He jumped triumphantly in Severus's arms.

"We're going on a cruise!"


End file.
